This story (and future ones) isn't just regular fan fic: because it's about the players. In fact, I originally got the idea from a post by andreicde about a particually awsome battle, so thanks you, sir, for making my brain work.

MessengersPart 1: The Generals

The elven general Arkantos surveys his small army, eyes glinting in the sun's harsh light. The troops were highly trained, not to mention some of the best swordsmen in existence, but the defeat had taken its toll: morale was unusually low, and Arkantos knew that soon, he may have no choice but to turn back to the forest.

Arkantos had come to Rollingplain at the request of several members of the Council of Archons, who ordered him to "cause as much damage to the wicked humans as one can, and to make them fear ever again trespassing in the sacred lands of the elves."

Those Archons hadn't know what they were talking about. When Arkantos willingly committed the murders he was sent to commit, the Archons were in shock. The general was insane, they said; a sadistic maniac, filled with hatred for all life.

Not all life, Arkantos thought to himself, just the humans.

A shout woke the general from his thoughts. "Sir!" the soldier cried, "A messenger!"

Indeed, it was a messenger. Clad in a heavy, silken green robe, golden scabbard at his side. Five rangers rode beside him as an escort, their unicorns eying the nearby army uneasily.

Arkantos let the messenger climb the steep hill to the command tent, where the banners of Gelmeerim fluttered in the breeze.

The messenger approached, dismounted. Dark hair, green eyes, tan skin; it didn't take an enchanter to see that this "warrior", if he could be called such, had wood elf blood in him. Young, and probably inexperienced; Arkantos was not impressed.

“You, there! Messenger!" the general shouted, even though the other elf was only a few feet away. "What is it you want?"

The messenger bowed before the mighty general, his eyes filled with a mix of awe and fear. "My lord, I bring orders from the Archons: you and all your army are to fall back from the Rollingplain, and return to Gelmeerim. And I, I was told to tell you that...," his voice stuttered, his eyes darted away.

"Yes?"

"That upon setting foot on elven soil, you will be removed from your position as commander; you will then report to the Council for trial. Your personal holdings are already being seized."

Arkantos glared, but nothing more. He had expected this.

The poor messenger, however, had no way of knowing this. His face began to sweat profusely as he recalled the vicious rumors of Arkantos’s cruelty.

His state did not improve when the general turned his full attention towards the green-robed messenger. “What is your name?” Arkantos asked.

“Daerior, my lord.”

Arkantos snorted disdainfully. “Family name?”

“Iloyana”

Arkantos wasn’t annoyed that he couldn’t mentally translate the wood elven name; after all, the gibberish of the swamp-dwellers was far, far below him.
“And that means?”

It hit the general like a two-by-four. “Your family is known for its spellcasters, is it not?”

“Well, yes, my lord,” Daerior said as he shifted from foot to foot nervously.

Arkantos let out a hearty laugh. “But that’s wonderful! A good enchanter is just what this army needs! So tell me boy, just how skilled are you?”

“Well…not very skilled. I only know a little, my lord.”

Arkantos raised an eyebrow threateningly. “How much is a little?”

“Actually, I can really just talk to tree spirits and hear the occasional thought.”

“What!” Arkantos was snarling, furious that such a pitiful specimen of enchanter should be in the same species as him. “Is that it?”

Daerior shrank back in terror, but somehow managed an answer. “I’ve also been able to interact with dreams and such, and-”

“What good is that?” Arkantos roared, “What good is that to the elves?”

This time, the messenger wisely remained silent. He knew what was coming; months later, his family might realize that he was never coming back, that his entrails were spilled upon this dreary hillside.

Arkantos grinned maliciously at Daerior’s obvious fear. “Don’t worry. I won’t kill you. Not while I have such marvelous plans for you.”

*********

Meanwhile, in the camp of the one called Sunleader…

A female general clad in silver armor swept aside the command tent’s curtain as she stepped out into the sunlight. Her lord had been clear: the task must be carried out immediately.

She stopped the first soldier of some rank she came across. “You there! The Sunleader has a mission for you.”

The young cavalier walked over to his general, saluted. “Yes, general?”

The general, who was called Valkyrie by her troops, studied the young man. Strong, eager; but also wearing an expression of complete incompetence. Ah, well; he would have to do.

Valkyrie relayed the command: “Despite our recent victory over the evil elves, we are low on manpower. Sunleader charges you to travel to the city of Denwall, and to petition for reinforcements from Sir Morin. You may take as large of an escort as you deem suitable, as long as it is not too large to slow your progress. There are many bandits between here and the stronghold, and the elves may have sent out raiders; you are advised to be cautious. Any questions?”

The man shook his head. “None, general.”

“Then be about your task.”

After an exchange of salutes, the man walked off to assemble his escort.

Valkyrie walked back towards her tent. She was halfway across the camp before she realized she had never asked the soldier’s name.